


Memento

by thedevilchicken



Category: X-Men (Original Timeline Movies)
Genre: Bad Guys Made Them Do It, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 08:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15115700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken





	Memento

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ciliegio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ciliegio/gifts).



Logan hasn't talked to him in weeks. 

Scott gets it. It's really not that he doesn't understand it because he understands it, because he was there at the time just like Logan was. He remembers, just like Logan remembers, or maybe even better because Logan's not the one with the goddamn scars, because how could he be? Scott's the one with the scars not quite hidden underneath his clothes. Scott's the one they stare at in the showers after training or when he strips down to his swimsuit by the pool. He's the one they stare at, while they try to pretend they're not looking at all. Like they're doing right now. 

It's hot outside and pretty much half the school or more's been gathered around the pool like it's going out of style since mid-morning but right now, mid-afternoon, they've vacated the water in favor of drinks by the grill. It's not that Scott's chosen this moment because there's fewer people who might take a look, because he doesn't give a damn who looks, or at least he likes to think he doesn't because what happened was categorically not his fault. He just prefers when he can swim a couple of laps without one of the kids thwacking him in the head with a half-deflated beachball or running into some kind of floatation device in the shape of a goddamn flamingo.

So, he shakes off his sandals and he pulls off his shirt and some of the kids try to act like they're not looking over at him over the tops of their lemonades, except he knows they are, because they always are. He switches his glasses out for a pair of ruby quartz swimming goggles and he stretches for a second before he sits himself down on the edge of the pool, his legs hanging down into the water. The sun feels pretty good on his skin, he thinks, as he looks down over his chest and on into the pool, but he can tell just how frequently his shirt's not off by the bright tan lines across his biceps where his shirtsleeves end. Then he jumps in. At least while he's in there, it's harder to see the scars.

Most of the time, they pretend no one knows anything happened at all, but everyone does. They know the basic outline of it, at least: he and Logan were taken captive on what should've men a routine job and it all got worse from there. From what he hears, they think their captors forced Logan to hurt him and that's why there's three long, perfectly parallel scars that run down the length of his chest, right from his Adam's apple and down under the waistband of his shorts. They think that's why his back is crisscrossed with them: they run down diagonally across his spine, starting at his shoulder blades, two huge 'X'es that vanish underneath his shorts. He finds the choice sort of ironic, considering, but he knows that's not what Logan had in mind. He knows Logan wasn't thinking at all.

He guesses, in a way, they're right: their captors forced Logan to hurt him. That's just not all he did. It's just not all _they_ did. 

And now, because of that, Logan hasn't said a word to him in weeks.

-

When Scott woke after the mission went wrong, he was naked and lying on a mattress on a concrete floor, and he had no goddamn idea where he was.He had no idea where _they_ were.

All he knew was Logan was there, too, crouching naked in the back corner of the room on the balls of his feet - he was peering at a dart sitting there in the palm of his hand and though Scott couldn't see a mark on him, he knew that didn't mean it hadn't hit and been removed and he'd just already healed. And all Scott remembered was shoving someone out of the way and taking the hit from the stun gun himself, instead of Kitty or Rogue or who even knew. That must've been how he'd ended up wherever the hell he was. Wherever _they_ were.

"If you do exactly what we want, we'll let you live," the voice said, over the speakers that were mounted up in the two high corners of the front of the room, alongside two dome cameras. Scott thought about blasting them, but only for a second; after all, he had no idea what else he might hit, how stable the room was, or who else might be there. He wasn't big on the idea of killing civilians, or indeed himself. 

"So what do you want us to do?" Scott asked. 

The voice chuckled hollowly. "You'll work it out," it said, then cut out abruptly. And, when Scott took a closer look at Logan, he guessed maybe they would. 

Logan tossed the dart away and took a deep, unsteady breath. The way he clenched and unclenched his fists, and clenched and unclenched his jaw, Scott could tell something was wrong with him. The way he screwed his eyes shut, and his muscles tensed, and his cock began to stiffen, he _knew_ something was wrong with him. He guessed he understood why they'd been going for the girls, at least. He was probably their shitty consolation prize.

"Logan?" Scott said, and Logan's eyes snapped open. The look on his face was something Scott had never seen there before - not irritation, not dissatisfaction, not just plain disgust. Logan grimaced. He stood, all the muscles standing out right through his neck and his tensed arms, and he was still looking at Scott, with his mouth pressed into a hard line and his nails pressed into his palms. His cock was flushed and hard and _huge_ , bigger than Scott would've guessed, not that he'd dedicated a lot of his time to considering it. It was huge and hard and moist at the tip, and Scott knew what their captors wanted even if Logan seemed a thousand miles away. 

It was obvious what they must've done, with Logan's present state and the dart he'd thrown to the floor considered, or at least the general idea of it was obvious: they'd drugged Logan, pure and simple. He looked like he was fighting a losing battle for control and the moment he actually lost was completely clear: at that moment, he bared his teeth and rose and stalked toward him. 

"You don't have to do this," Scott said, but Logan didn't even seem to register the sound of his voice, let alone the sentiment of what he'd said. When he reached out toward him, Scott tried to push him back, but Logan was bigger and stronger and much more intent on getting his way than Scott was, since he was disadvantaged by not actively wanting to kill him to get it. Logan pushed him down, shoved him down hard onto his chest on the mattress and straddled the back of Scott's thighs, with one hand planted firmly between his shoulder blades to keep him down like that. 

"Struggling won't help," the voice said, amused, crackling from the speakers. "You'll only make him angry." And, when Scott tried to move, he found that was right. 

Logan made a sound really low down in his throat that was almost like a fucking growl and he shoved down harder between Scott's shoulders with the heel of his left hand. He pushed Scott down face first against the mattress, till he had to close his eyes just in case his glasses came loose from it. And Logan shifted; the second his hand left Scott's back, he tried to move, but Logan slapped him back down again, and again, and _again_ , until Scott's head reeled and his heart pounded and he knew the struggle would do him absolutely no good at all. Logan wasn't himself. Unless he wanted to take off his glasses and try to catch him with a blast from his eyes, he was defenseless against him. He could fight and get himself hurt or let it happen and maybe it'd be over quickly, or maybe Logan would come back to himself. So, he decided he'd comply. 

Logan pulled him up onto his knees, roughly, by his thighs and his hips, and Scott rested there on his forearms with his head hanging down. Logan rubbed the head of his huge cock between Scott's cheeks and Scott just shifted his thighs out wider and tried to make himself relax. The fact was, he'd thought about this; maybe not this exact fucked-up situation but the idea of the two of them having sex, because honestly, it had been pretty clear for months by then that both of them were interested, at least in something stupid and messed up and physical. Jean was gone and they were both left behind and maybe they didn't _like_ each other, but they'd sure as hell been spending a lot of time around each other. It wasn't because Scott cared about Logan's opinions on local politics or that Logan cared if Scott wore boxers or briefs, except maybe to get him out of them.

They'd trained together. They'd had drinks together, beers in the rec room or sitting out on the tennis court past dark like underage teen drinkers more than a decade too late, at least in Scott's case and who knew in Logan's. They'd muttered things not quite under their breath about how they missed her and then they'd drunk some more and, once or twice, one had pushed the other up against a wall or the side of a car or the back of a door, hands on shoulders or biceps or loose around wrists, and they rested their goddamn foreheads together as their pulses beat a step too fast. Scott had wanted to hit him. Sometimes, be'd wanted to kiss him. He'd wanted a whole lot more, but not like this. 

Logan rubbed the head of his thick cock against him. Logan pushed against him, wide and blunt and hot against his hole. He pushed into him, and Scott could feel exactly how big he was, how he filled him up and stretched him out, how pre-come and saliva weren't nearly enough to make it easy, and how it hurt and it hurt and it _hurt_ till he was gripping white-knuckled at the mattress and clenching his teeth against it. Logan wasn't slow about it, and he wasn't subtle about it - he gripped Scott's hips and he shoved into him, balls-deep, opened him up with his cock, fucking _tore_ something in him, and all Scott could do was muffle a pained kind of groan against the mattress as Logan fucked him hard and deep and fast, thrusting over and over. He wasn't totally sure what he'd wanted, but he knew he hadn't wanted it like that. 

 

He wanted to think it would be done when Logan came, but it wasn't. Logan came in him, pushed up deep, and he left him there sprawled face down on the mattress, but that wasn't it - whatever they'd given him wasn't even nearly out of his system. Logan had him again thirty minute later, shoved down on his knees again. He had him again an hour after that, pushed down flat on his chest. When the cavalry arrived, they had to pull Logan off of him; he slashed at them with his claws, he slashed at _Scott_ with his claws, threw Bobby clear across the room and dragged the points of one set of claws straight down Scott's chest like marking him was claiming him. Scott passed out, dripping blood, watching Bobby freeze Logan into place so Rogue could touch his face with one ungloved hand and take him down. 

The next thing Scott knew, he was waking up in a bed in the medical room, back in the mansion in Westchester. They'd cuffed Logan down two beds away from him and he could see his reflection in the window so he didn't have to look at him. He could see him watching him. As Scott finally turned his head and finally looked at him, Logan looked away. 

When Scott explained it wasn't Logan's fault, none of it was, and all the tests for whatever had been in him finally came back clean again instead of his blood being full of it, they unlocked the cuffs. He looked at Scott for a moment, like he had no fucking clue what he should say, and then he turned and he walked away. 

He was himself again, and he hasn't spoken to Scott since. 

-

He swims a couple of easy laps under the midday sun. The water feels good, cool but not cold, but he's not thinking about that, not really. He's thinking about what happened that day. 

They caught the guys responsible four days after Scott woke up, or at least Logan did because he took off on his own to deal with it. The Professor is the only one who really knows what Logan did when he found them. Scott tells himself whatever it was, they had it coming. Maybe he'll ask one day, and he doubts that he'll regret it.

Scott remembers how long it took for the cuts to heal up enough for him to move without almost splitting them back open. Someone had stitched him up really neatly and carefully, but he remembers how it ached, and then it itched, and had to get Bobby to help him out when he showered the first few times because it pulled at his stitches when he tried to wash himself. Only Bobby and Rogue and the professor and Storm know exactly what had happened, because three of them had been there and Xavier always seems to know things he maybe shouldn't. They hadn't told anyone else by the time he woke, and Scott didn't have to ask them not to spread the news around. So, the kids all think the scars are all that Logan did to him. 

He's not thinking about how the water feels on his skin because he knows he's not alone in the pool. He chose that moment because the kids had cleared out but also because Logan was still there, his arms spread wide along the edge, submerged up to his chest, and after a couple of laps Scott stops opposite him. He adopts the same pose, his arms along the edge of the pool. He tilts his head back just a fraction, so Logan can see the scars that run down his neck and down under the water line that crosses him mid-chest. Logan's looking at him. For once, he's not even trying to pretend he's not. 

As Scott moves one hand, as Scott runs that hand over his neck, over his chest and underneath the water, following his scars, Logan's eyes go wide. He looks fucking appalled. Then he turns, and he jumps, and he pushes up out of the water, grabs a towel and walks away. Scott does the same, and he follows, grabbing his glasses along the way. He's had enough.

He catches him upstairs, dripping their way down the corridor outside Logan's room, one hand already on the doorknob. He catches him as he's stepping inside and Scott follows him in, pushes him so he doesn't have chance to kick the door closed in front of him and shut him out, and Scott closes it himself. He leans back against it, wood to his damp skin, and Logan turns to look at him, like he'd rather be anywhere else in the whole damn world. And they just stand there, the silence stretching out uncomfortably in the sticky-hot room. 

"Say something," Scott says, at last, because he's done with this. He is so very done with this. 

Logan shrugs. "What do you want me to say?" he asks. 

"That's already more than you've said to me in six weeks," Scott says, pointedly. "Look, I know you're avoiding me, and I get it, but this is getting ridiculous."

"You want to pretend nothing happened?"

Scott considers this for a moment. A long moment, but a moment nonetheless. He wonders if that's what he's saying, if maybe trying to go back to how things were before would be for the best somehow, but he knows they can't. Not the least reason for which being that he's standing there dripping onto the floor of Logan's room in his swimsuit, with three parallel scars exposed down the length of his torso. Scars that Logan put there not so long ago. 

"No," he says, glancing down over his chest for a second and then back up at Logan. "I think that ship sailed the second you did this."

"So you want me to say I'm sorry?"

Scott sighs. He shakes his head, raking his wet hair back with both hands. 

"No," he says again. 

"Then what _do_ you want?"

"I want you to come over here." Logan frowns. "What do you think I'm going to do to you, Logan? I've got my back against a door. I'm standing here in nothing but a pair of wet shorts. Do I scare you?"

Logan snorts at that and goes closer. Scott catches one of his wrists and Logan flinches and tenses but Scott lifts Logan's hand, tilts back his own head and brings Logan's palm to his throat. Then he leaves it there, drops his hands to his sides, and Logan doesn't move his hand away. He has to admit he pretty much expected him to.

"Look, I don't want to pretend it never happened," Scott says. "I want to get past it. Jesus Christ, Logan, I want _us_ to get past it. Do you understand what I'm saying?" He sighs. He lifts his hands and twists his fingers into Logan's hair. He twists them tighter, so tight it has to hurt even him. "Think you can you do that?"

Logan nods tightly, the muscles in his jaw working. He steps closer. Then he runs his hand down, slowly, right from Scott's throat to the waist of his pool-damp shorts. He runs his hand down underneath, to where the scars stop and Scott's cock begins. Scott shivers. He closes his eyes behind his glasses.

 

Logan doesn't say a word. He doesn't say he's sorry, though Scott's pretty sure he is. He presses his mouth to the scars at Scott's throat instead, like that's his answer; he wraps his hand around his cock, like that's his answer, too. Scott figures he can live with that, so he pushes him back and Scott shoves down his shorts and Logan raises his brows. Scott puts his hands on his hips. Logan loses his shorts, too, and Scott stretches out on his back on Logan's bed, still wet from the pool. Logan follows. 

He kneels between his thighs. And he's already half hard and Scott can see that, how he's just as huge as he remembers, but this time the look on Logan's face is something completely different. As he lubes his fingers, as he runs them down between Scott's cheeks, the look on his face is fucking raw. He pushes them inside and Scott groans against his forearm, spreading his thighs out wider. By the time Logan slicks his cock and thumbs it down against his hole, he almost feels ready for it. When Logan pushes against him, one hand at his cock and the other gripping Scott's hip, his knees draped over his thighs, it's a tight fit but that's fine. That's good. He grips the headboard and Logan pushes in, slick and slow. 

Logan takes an unsteady breath. Logan takes a moment and then he pops his claws and there's a surge of adrenaline in Scott that somehow makes his cock even harder though he's pretty sure it should do the exact opposite. Logan turns his hand and he runs the flat back edge of his claws down slowly but firmly over the scars on Scott's chest and Jesus, that's it, that's absolutely it, Scott comes just from the feel of that. Logan's not far behind, pushed inside as deep as he can go, and Scott laughs. Logan snorts at him and pulls back out, slowly and maybe a little carefully, them drops down onto his back beside him. 

"So, you want a beer?" Logan asks, turning his head toward him. 

Scott shrugs. "Sure," he says, so Logan leaves the bed and grabs his jeans and Scott watches him pull them on and make for the door just like that, shirtless and barefoot. He turns back, one hand on the handle. He looks at Scott there in his bed, naked, his hair still damp, and for a second he almost smiles before he's gone. 

Scott figures maybe they'll talk it over sometime, what happened that day and whatever the fuck this is they're doing now. 

But, three minutes later when Logan reappears with a cold beer in each hand and joins him back there on the bed, he figures maybe he doesn't need him to speak too much much after all.


End file.
